“Instead of fighting the evil that is in me, I should cultivate the seeds of good that are there already, and slowly transform bad traits into good ones. In the first place I should serve the good. So I will utilize my bad traits for service to God”. This short fragment probably best summarizes the message of the text we translated this time. The article below is only about 7 years old. Its author is the late Br. Pawel (the Rev. Prof. K.M.P. Rudnicki, 1926-2013). He was undoubtedly the most prominent Mariavite thinker of the second half of the 20th century; not only a theologian but a world-famous astronomer, a philosopher and esotericist (Anthroposophist). For us, however, above all a dear friend and spiritual guide. In this article, too, he assumed the role of a spiritual guide characterized by profound knowledge of the human spirit and character, and at the same someone who, with true Franciscan humility and a specific sense of humor, didn’t find it difficult to talk about his own shortcomings and struggles.

The Self Without Bad Traits

It is often said that cultivating good is more important than fighting evil. If, above all else, I’m striving to secure my house by ever improving ways against fire, hurricane, flood, thieves, mice, fungus, woodworms, etc., instead of comfortably arranging the interior, living in it will never be good. If, above all else, we look for and punish small and big wrongdoers in the state, instead of developing science and the economy, the country will never become prosperous. If, above all else, we desire to eliminate wrong theological convictions in the church, instead of cultivating the life of the spirit, good habits and mutual love, the church will ossify. These truths are well-known in the spiritual, political and economic life. By destroying evil, in all these cases we too often involuntarily destroy what is good as well. Is it like that in the case of one’s personal internal work?

I strive to work on myself. I go to confession. After each confession I try to do better, and still there are bad inclinations in myself, which tempt me to commit new sins. Oh, if good God took away all flaws of my character, how much more good I could do!

But hey, is it really so?

Perhaps there are such among the readers who can act on pure love of doing God’s will. There were such saints. Probably they do exist today as well, and there may be such among the readers of “Praca”. These reflections are not meant for them, but for people like myself, full of bad inclinations and egoism.

I know that the ideal disciple of Christ does good not because of a calculation, in order to be saved, but from pure love of good. I too like good and truth and respect God’s will, but when I put my efforts to even some minor thing, somewhere in the background of my consciousness there is the conviction that I will be rewarded for that small sacrifice in the life to come. And that conviction makes me glad and encourages me to work.

A certain saint, upon observing this in himself, was so struck by it that he no longer wanted to do good things, for – as he did them of egoism – they were devoid of any moral value – ceased to be good. And then he thought that this was a demonic temptation and decided to do things that are good regardless of the motivation. Whether I do something from the love of God and man or of myself (expecting to be rewarded) – if I only do something good – I serve the world. But let us return to the main topic.

If I imagine that in some miraculous way all viciousness were taken from me, all desire to criticize others, would I still have any reason to be interested in other people, or would others – perhaps with the exception of some figures worthy of reverence – become absolutely indifferent to me? I would cut myself off from people.

If I completely cease to be gluttonous, if it were completely indifferent to me what I eat, when and how much, would I be able, by a sense of reason, to eat in a manner that would allow me to fulfill any will – God’s or my own?

Most common human flaws were listed as the seven cardinal sins, which together form egoism and constitute the basis of all sins. These are, as we well know: wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony. These are not good traits, but when I think that all were to be taken from me, I realize that my personality would crumble to pieces. Only a small spark of the self would be left, but helpless, dull, desiring nothing – doing nothing.

Perhaps I exaggerate a little bit, for there is in me a little bit – not much, but some – true love of God and doing his will. Perhaps, then, my personality wouldn’t fall apart completely, yet it would certainly be overcome by serious psychological depression.

What should I do, then?

Instead of fighting the evil that is in me, I should cultivate the seeds of good that are there already, and slowly transform bad traits into good ones. In the first place I should serve the good. So I will utilize my bad traits for service to God. May my pride lead me to be ever more active in the service of good. May greed lead me to earn as many merits in the eyes of God as possible. May impurity, sensuality encourage me to give warmth and love to those that I desire. For the erotic inclination was given to man in order that he may learn to love. May envy become my motivation to surpass others in receiving God’s grace. May Gluttony contribute to forming rational eating habits of my own and caring for those who suffer hunger. May wrath be directed at all injustices that I encounter and may it learn to speak not in helpless anger but in haste to help where I may help. And may laziness lead to a rational way of handling and preserving my energy and strength, to the ability of finding the right forms of necessary rest instead of additionally wasting energy and time by succumbing to exhausting forms of entertainment and addictions.

If I act like that, only the effects of my actions will be good. The forces driving my actions will at the beginning be little noble, egoistic. But after doing so for a long time, some actions will become my habits. I will start to cherish them, like them. And in this way the love of good, of God, will slowly grow in me. And then all egoistic forces and those listed as the seven cardinal sins, as well as other, less important ones, will cease to be necessary as motivations. Unused, they will wither. The force driving my actions will be only the strife for the highest good, the desire to do God’s will.

When shall it happen? Perhaps not in this life. But I should strive for it and not wait for the next. After death, I won’t have such a life, such opportunities to work on myself as I do now anymore. And my present aspirations, my practical efforts will form a basis for what will be able to grow in the next life.

Angels act upon pure love of doing God’s will. Humanity shall become the tenth angelic choir. Through baptism we became the brothers of Christ. Some day he will remove all traces of evil from us, but we shouldn’t ask him to do it before the time comes.

Br. Pawel, “Praca nad Soba” 51 (2008), p. 1-4.

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To answer in advance what some of you may ask: no, we don’t intend to return to writing the blog yet. Moreover, we feel a little awkward ourselves, visiting it for the first time since a few months, but we think we need to make up for an important omission. A year ago Br. Pawel, the Rev. Prof. K.M.P. Rudnicki, passed away. The sermon preached at the commemoration service of the Polish Episcopal Network by Jarek was published in print but not on the blog. Today, on the first anniversary of his death, we publish it here as well.

Book of Amos 5:8, Apocalypse 21:2-7, St. John’s Gospel 10:11-16
God didn’t have it easy with me the last couple of days. Time and again, I would ask him if he really thinks that he needs Pawel more than we do. You may consider it strange, for people often say that dealing with the death of our loved ones is easier for us Christians. Yes, in some sense it is easier, but on the other hand the awareness that we offer what happened to God, regardless of how it strikes us, doesn’t alleviate the pain, the loss, the sense of being left alone, even orphaned. It’s one of the paradoxes related to the passing of a man who was a great paradox himself. Paradox will be one of the key words in this reflection. When we asked the Rev. Greg Neal, who only a month ago stood with Br. Pawel at the altar of St. Martin’s[1], to help us prepare the liturgy for tonight as we thought we didn’t have enough time to do it ourselves before departing from the Netherlands, he chose also the lessons, and explained why. With regard to the Old Testament Lesson from Prophet Amos, he referred of course to one of Pawel’s two main callings, Astronomy. To Amos’ statement, “He who made the Pleiades and Orion,” one would like to add: “he who made Rudnicki’s comet and the supernovae Pawel discovered.” He, whose creating power goes beyond what we can see. It was to studying his creation that Pawel devoted a great part of his life. Every time we were preparing for a service like today, we went through a ritual of sorts: first, we prepared the liturgy, the lessons, and then sent them to Cracow by email, always on the Monday preceding the Saturday on which the service were to be held, because Pawel said, “do it then as on Monday I’m a Theologian, and from Tuesday to Thursday an Astronomer, so otherwise I wouldn’t have enough time to prepare.”

Br. Pawel in his partisan uniform.

I browsed many internet comments below various articles devoted to Pawel, and it was stated repeatedly that he was drawn to God by Astronomy. Some found it odd, some logical. Yet it wasn’t entirely like that, for the events that initiated the spiritual transformation of Pawel – born to a Communist/Socialist family, son of Lucjan Rudnicki, a famous Communist author and of a Polish Socialist Party activist – were more existential than strictly intellectual. I have here in mind in the first place the spiritual experiences he had when he fought in the guerilla armies, first in the People’s Guard[2] and then in the People’s Army. For Pawel was one of those who were “on the wrong side” according to today’s historiography, those who should not be spoken of as they allegedly didn’t “fight for Poland.” I remember some discussions we had, difficult conversations when for example he didn’t let it be spoken ill of such a controversial person like Mieczyslaw Moczar[3], because he was his commander. Pawel, a Righteous Among The Nations, an honorary citizen of Israel, felt a bond with someone like Moczar, one of those behind the 1968 events[4]. As I said, paradox will be the key word in this reflection. It was this series of spiritual experiences, about which Pawel spoke relatively little – he described them in his spiritual biography – that opened him up to another dimension of reality, the one that cannot be studied by a telescope or a magnifying glass, or a microscope. Into this realm too he journeyed in his characteristic way – he combined such an amazing number of spiritual traditions that no orthodoxy and no heresy would combine them like this one man. I will name only a few.

Pawel was one of the greatest Anthroposophists Poland had – it is a spiritual school drawing from the third pillar of European culture, beside the classical and the Christian ones, the pillar of Western esotericism, the Rosicrucian tradition, the tradition of Boehme, etc., etc. It is also an attempt to study, to gain concrete spiritual knowledge of those worlds which our senses cannot penetrate – an attempt to open the inner eye. For this need was in him too. He wanted to be a scholar also with regard to the spiritual world.

Looking for a church for himself

Pawel told many times that he went to the Orthodox Church first – in times that were difficult for it, when it was only reestablishing itself after World War II in an extremely complicated situation. At last he found himself in the Mariavite Church, however. He told that he was fascinated by two things. First, the way the priest looked like: wearing simple, as for those times, vestments, and second, the simple, spiritual piety that he demonstrated in his sermon and in conversation.

One can hardly not associate this with Pawel himself, the way he was with us. In today’s Gospel we heard about Christ – the Good Shepherd. It is also a calling for us all – to be shepherds for others – and especially for those whose vocation is to be leaders in the Church. The way Pawel did it, was the way of the Good Shepherd indeed. What I have in mind is the way he celebrated the liturgy – simple, free from redundant decorative elements, and at the same time revealing a profound experience, a deep awareness of the meaning of each word. Each word of the liturgy, when spoken by Pawel, was full of meaning, was something to be savored, something one had to stop and think about, something that cannot be spoken lightly, because it opens up new spiritual worlds to us. And how did we remember him from the retreats of the Polish Episcopal Network? Whenever we were working on the program, he would send us an email and ask gently, “Will there be time for me to speak about this or that?” It was always only an offer. I remember especially well his last talk at the retreat in Pulawy, where he spoke of his problem with forgiving, and how, step by step, he had been overcoming it and how he had been gradually succeeding in discovering some gift, some opportunity to learn in every difficult person he had to forgive.

Does it mean that we should see the difficult fact of Pawel’s absence among us as an opportunity to learn something? In a sense the time of the exam is coming. The teacher is gone and we will have to show how much we learned as his disciples. Yet we will take this exam aware that He who is the Lord of life and death says, “To him who is thirsty I will give to drink without cost from the spring of the water of life.” Without cost, for free. Pawel was a man who devoted a great part of his writing, his theological and spiritual work to the issue of “work on oneself.” Sometimes we laughed that Work on Oneself is his fourth name, “Konrad Maria Paweł ‘Work on Oneself’ Rudnicki.” Sometimes when you listened to what he said about the necessity of spiritual growth, you would ask yourself if there was a place for the “without cost” – for a gift, for receiving, opening oneself up to grace. Yet who listened to Pawel carefully, certainly understood that work on oneself was not an instrument to gain entrance to heaven, but was meant to make us able to open up to this gift, this living water, to stand before God in a truly conscious manner – as the receiving one, but also as the one who is supposed to do something with the gift she received, let it grow. It is another paradox located in the very heart of Christian spirituality, which is certainly a spirituality of grace, gift, this “without cost” – in a moment we will approach the table and receive the bread that is nothing else but a gift – and yet we will receive it in order to go into the world and be witnesses of our allegiance to the Gospel. So it is at the same time a spirituality of work, an active spirituality.

“And I have other sheep.” One and a half year ago we held the conference initiating the Polish Episcopal Network. About 25 persons said they would come. It was raining on that Saturday. When we arrived together with our guests – Bishop Pierre Whalon and his wife, Melinda, Prof. Daniel Siemiatkoski who came from Oxford – we saw only five people. When I was opening the conference, I didn’t know where to look, how could I look in the eyes of the bishop whom I requested to come from Paris to meet five persons. Yet Pawel was among them, Pawel who thought that since the Episcopal Church granted him, a Polish Mariavite, the permission to minister as a priest in the 60s and 80s, since it offered him an opportunity to do what he considered a need of his soul – being a priest – he should accompany the Polish Episcopal Network when it was taking its first steps in Poland. He saw this as a kind of debt. One and a half year later it is we that owe him. He was with us indeed every time, on every opportunity. He didn’t celebrate a service only once – in January, when he really couldn’t walk. I came then to Sw. Filipa street[6] with reserved sacrament that he had consecrated specially for this occasion at a Mass he celebrated in his study.

Br. Pawel celebrates his last Episcopal Eucharist assisted by the Rev. Gregory Neal.

“And I have other sheep.” Pawel was a Mariavite. The Work of Great Mercy, Mariavite Spirituality, really became a part of him. He was certainly a troublesome Mariavite for many other Mariavites, and especially Mariavite Bishops, yet a Mariavite in his heart and in his soul nonetheless. And still, during this one and a half year I never doubted that he was also a priest in the Episcopal Church. The license he received in the 60s, which he showed then to Bishop Pierre, was not merely a piece of paper. It was a testimony of his deep bond with us, with the Polish Episcopal Network, with the Episcopal Church, with Anglicanism – with those other sheep, who came God knows whence, sometimes four, sometimes five, sometimes twenty (he would be surprised to see so many today). A month ago someone told me after the service – as it turned out, the last one Pawel celebrated – that he finally feels at home in a church. I think that it is such a church and that it should remain such – among other things for the sake of those who don’t feel well in any other church. The question is, how are we going to make it happen without you, Pawel?

Amen

After a year we must admit, alas: we probably didn’t…

[1] St. Martin’s Lutheran Church in Cracow where we sometimes held our services. In October 2013 we celebrated there the first anniversary of regular Episcopal services in Cracow. The service was presided by Fr. Rudnicki, and the sermon was preached by our dear friend from the United Methodist Church, the Rev. Dr. Gregory S. Neal. Unfortunately, it turned out to be the last service presided by Pawel.

[2] The People’s Guard, and later the People’s Army, were Communist partisan forces. Today their veterans are ignored or even treated as traitors or Soviet agents.

[4] In 1968 took place an internal conflict among Polish communists. One camp comprised a nationalistic group, people who fought in the partisan forces during the war, led by Mieczyslaw Moczar, and the other a more cosmopolitan and liberal group, people who spent the war in the Soviet Union. Because many of them were Jewish and supported Israel, Moczar and his party used anti-Semitic slogans. As a result of this campaign, many Jews, especially the intelligentsia, left Poland. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1968_Polish_political_crisis

First of all, it’s not fair that Thomas has been known in the tradition as the “doubting” one. Was he somehow special, did he have any characteristic that distinguished him from other disciples, for example particularly strong skepticism? Certainly not. It was his situation that was different.

According to the Gospel no single disciple believed someone else’s word, believed a message, someone else’s story. Everyone wanted and had to check, find out for themselves. Peter and John ran to the tomb and only when they saw it empty did they grasp the meaning of the Scriptures and that God was supposed to raise Jesus from the dead (John 20:8-10).

By the way, it may seem strange to us, that inability to comprehend – how is it possible that they didn’t get Jesus’ hints, so straightforward and clear to us? That he would point to his mission again and again, and they nonetheless succumbed to despair and didn’t await his resurrection, didn’t now that he prophesied it? In the Hebrew tradition they grew up in and to which Jesus constantly referred, the Messiah was the triumphant King of Peace, the Chosen One, like Jesus at the moment of his glory upon entering Jerusalem on the donkey. The suffering servant from Isiah is someone else. These traditions hadn’t been combined before. The disciples had to know that Jesus was referring to those prophecies, for they new the Scriptures well. But apparently it was too incomprehensible, or perhaps too difficult, to grasp the implications: the Messiah had to suffer, die, and, in the categories of this world, be defeated and crashed. So everything, human psyche and their tradition, made it difficult for them to comprehend. And they experienced something horrible, the passion and death of Jesus, events that could shake even the strongest conviction, the strongest expectation, the strongest faith in prophecy.

Mary on the other hand believed only when Jesus, whom he had first taken for the gardener, addressed her by her name (John 20:14-16). And the disciples gathered behind the locked door, afraid and low-spirited, saw Jesus and his wounds with their own eyes, didn’t they? (John 20:20) Thomas is not exceptional, is not a black, skeptical sheep. He simply wasn’t in the right place at the right time, “was not with them when Jesus came” (John 20:24; it is what I had in mind by saying that his situation was different). His encounter with the Risen One, his experience, was not different from the experience of the other disciples. In a sense he demonstrated something that applies to all.

It came to my mind that Thomas and his “doubts” fit perfectly the logic of the story that was written down “for us to believe than Jesus is the Messiah” (John 20:30) It is he, Thomas, that we identify with, for because of his straightforwardness the theme of doubt focuses on him. And in the story he, the doubting one, the one the reader identifies with – the reader who didn’t see Jesus, for she was not with the disciples, was she? – finally believes. So we too are more likely to believe, even though we don’t experience precisely what he did. In a sense Thomas doubted for us, so that we may find a place for ourselves in the story more easily. So perhaps Thomas was in a way sacrificed by the stigmatization as “the doubting one” in the tradition for our sake. Perhaps.

Jesus finally says, “blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” (John 20:29) When he appeared before the disciples for the first time, he said “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” (John 20:21) This is for me one of the keys to this story. Those who haven’t seen are outside, behind the locked door, in the world. This is the world to which Jesus sent his disciples as his father sent him. Jesus desires that the world believes, but he didn’t show himself to the whole world, did he? Why? Wouldn’t it be simpler that way? For this world is full of people looking for a direct experience (and especially in our times). If they knew him in the glory of his deified body, looked into his brilliant face, saw the wounds and how he goes through the locked door – wouldn’t they believe? Wouldn’t it be better? For Jesus would certainly not only be able to achieve bilocation, which has been mastered even by the more spiritually advanced disciples of his, but even multilocation. Omnilocation. Why make the disciples undergo the difficulties of preaching, which at that moment turned out to be too much for them (for after a week they were still behind the locked door), and deprive people of this ultimate experience, giving them only the testimony of the disciples? Is this about a trial? Does God test the devotion of the disciples to preaching and the readiness of others to accept it? Is this about earning salvation, the fact that nothing comes easily, that there are no shortcuts?

I am convinced that it is not God’s desire to test us and put us to trials. He doesn’t want to torment us. He gives his grace freely. And this is what it’s all about, these two fundamental realities, I believe – grace and freedom. I don’t now personally – and we don’t know as a community, our theological and philosophical legacy notwithstanding – what grace and freedom precisely are. But we know, for it is the fundamental meaning of Pascha, that God is a liberator. He leads out of slavery. We know also that he doesn’t want us to be his slaves but his children and brethren. Beings he desires to include in the communion of the Trinity. That is why he cannot use violence and force, cannot be a puppeteer on a high throne. The mystery of the Incarnation consists in the human sin, the human tendency to self-destruction, the fatum that freedom has become to men, being transformed and enlightened from within, the human being gaining freedom without violence, without being forced to anything, without a magical intervention into his spirit, which would equal a command on the part of God. In the Incarnation God becomes man and destroys destruction and death, giving us a chance for the same by means of communion with him. It is God who doesn’t take any shortcuts and doesn’t command anything, doesn’t use his might. Instead, he humbles himself and suffers. Grace is not violence, it is the opposite.

If Jesus showed himself to everyone, wouldn’t he in a sense overwhelm them by his might? Would we recognize him as the Messiah he truly is? Yes, he showed himself to the disciples, but they followed him already when he was only a wandering preacher contested by the mighty of this world. He was not a supernatural being that can walk through locked doors.

We, the readers of the Gospel, change our identification, as it were. For sometimes we are the world that haven’t seen and should believe, and sometimes the disciples that believe and have to go into this world (but do they?). We are in reality both at the same time, all the time. The witness we should give consists in human presence – such as Jesus showed us by his life. We have to be for each other and share with each other – our experience, our bread and wine – so that we may know Christ as he truly is: a Messiah who refrains from violence, who doesn’t force anything, whose grace is the opposite of a command. Only when we travel this way here on earth – as the world and as the disciples – will we be ready to see Jesus in his deified body and take our own deified body, not fearing that we won’t understand whom God truly is and wants to be.

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Here is a fragment of my reflection from the evening Easter service of my ecumenical congregation, the Kritische Gemeente IJmond. The theme of the service was “To live as never before.”

The difficult truth about the Judeo-Christian tradition is that it questions everything we see as trustworthy, rational, normal. It’s abnormal! The Pharaohs of this world don’t allow for their slaves to be so easily taken from them (think about Putin, for example!). Poor roaming preachers like Jesus usually don’t change the course of history. Rather, they end up in the dustbin of history and are forgotten. This is what this world is like, and everyone who sees it otherwise hasn’t, apparently, grown up yet. And we shouldn’t think that we can make anything easier by changing the literal approach to the Paschal stories to one more metaphorical or “spiritual”. The idea that Jesus lives forth in his disciples and followers is actually equally problematic as the vision of the open, empty tomb. It only seems a little less shocking, a little easier to comprehend…

But Easter is about incongruence. Easter is a breakthrough, exodus from the world as it is, the adult world, where one incessantly estimates probability and tries to properly asses consequences. Easter is a call to build upon the least probable, least trustworthy, weakest foundation. A foundation that cannot be described otherwise than by statements that are pure absurd from the logical point of view. It was excellently put by the ancient theologian Tertullian: “I believe because it is absurd.” Easter means exodus. Exodus from reality that can be predicted. From reality that can be shaped to one’s liking if only one has enough power. To celebrate Easter is crazy. It means embracing visions of which we know that they don’t come true. Departing on a journey while knowing that we won’t achieve our goal. Challenging systems that can crush us without any problem. And finally shouting to the face of death: “although I have no idea what it actually means, I’m nonetheless convinced that LIFE IS STRONGER THAN YOU!” Do we want to live “like never before?” Then it is the only way. For we haven’t lived like that ever before, I haven’t, because I finally believed all the stories told me to explain what it means to be adult, and cautiously started accepting the laws of adulthood. Only what seemed possible was possible. It is of course a self-fulfilling prophecy if we ignore in advance anything that seems impossible. But Easter seems to be saying: “why not try the impossible if what’s possible doesn’t work anyway?” Do you remember: “Let imagination rule?”* And actually still worse: what we cannot imagine should lead us – “the white spot”**, Mary Magdalene’s “woman talk”… Liberated slaves turned out to be the chosen people in order to give witness that God never sides with the slave drivers. The risen powerless outcast, who, with the greatest possible insubordination, was called he Son of God to show that only he is the Lord, and not the mighty emperor in Rome…

*”Let imagination rule” was the slogan of the first truly progressive cabinet in the post-war history of Holland (1973-77) led by the leader of the social democratic party Joop den Uyl and composed of social democrats, radicals, progressive democrats and two confessional parties – a Catholic and a Protestant one.

**The term “white spot” is a reference to the words of a contemporary Lutheran theologian, Marcel Barnard. In his book “Wat het oog heeft gezien” he reflects on the Apostle’s Creed inspired by masterpieces of world painting. The chapter devoted to the resurrection was inspired by Giotta di Bondone’s fresco Nori me tangere. Bernard writes: “The true Pascha escapes observation. Noting is to be seen. So nothing can also be imagined apart from the empty place, a white spot. Giotto’s Risen One tends to be like that.”